


how strange it is to be anything at all

by zozo



Series: Here Comes the First Day [6]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Gen, Healing, Meditation, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05, mental health recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zozo/pseuds/zozo
Summary: Catra decides she needs help from someone a little less embedded in her current situation. Now she just has to ask for it.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Perfuma (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Series: Here Comes the First Day [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755943
Comments: 74
Kudos: 495
Collections: the corners of today





	how strange it is to be anything at all

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes a brief (and optimistic) conversation about recovering from suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourself when reading.
> 
> It's also dedicated to Dr. M., my therapist from 2012–2018, who saved my life and taught me more brain tricks than I could fit into my actual brain.

Catra gingerly pokes a hand through the flap of the most colourful tent and waves. “Hey? Um. Hi? Perfuma?” she calls. “We said nine o’clock, right?” She withdraws her hand and rubs it awkwardly. “It _is_ nine o’clock, right?” she mutters to herself.

“Catra!” Perfuma throws the flap aside, smiling improbably wide given who she’s talking to first thing in the morning. “Just on time. You must be getting the hang of reading our mechanical clocks!”

“Ehhh,” Catra shrugs. “I’m getting better at reading 9, anyway.”

“Well, that’s perfect for us today!” Perfuma turns, waving Catra into the tent with her.

“I was so pleased you took me up on my offer,” she continues serenely as Catra’s eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside. “Meditation’s not for everyone, and it doesn’t have to be for you, but it means a lot that you’re willing to give it a try.”

“Yeah,” Catra says, looking around, “definitely no promises. But… you’re really good at staying chill. If meditation’s how you got that way, I could… I could probably use some of that.”

Perfuma looks at her fondly. “Let’s see what we can do. Now, I wasn’t sure how you’d prefer to sit, but I’ve got a few chairs in here, some cushions, some carpet if you want to sit right on the ground… I’ve got a little wooden stool too, but nobody ever likes that one—what matters most is that you’re comfortable, so it’s easier to sit still for a little while.”

“It’s, uh, it’s not easy for me to sit still. I should probably tell you that up front.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Perfuma says. “But it will be a _little_ easier if you’re set up comfortably.”

“Right,” Catra says. “Makes sense. Okay.”

They try a few different things, Perfuma coaxing Catra through some simple breathing exercises to see how she relaxes into each. It turns out Catra’s most comfortable sitting cross-legged on the floor. “How traditional!” Perfuma says, clasping her hands together.

How is she always so happy? Catra wonders. She wonders so hard she ends up asking it aloud. “So like, I get that meditation calms you down or whatever. But how are you always so _happy_? That’s more than just calm.”

Perfuma seems pleasantly surprised by the question. She sits down across from Catra. “Happy is different from calm, yes,” she says. “Not everyone gets that right away. I _can_ tell you the secret to happiness, if you want me to.”

Catra side-eyes her. “ _You_ know the secret to happiness.”

Perfuma laughs and laughs. It reminds Catra of birdsong. She feels an unexpected ring of pride that she got a genuine laugh out of the princess.

“Okay, okay, you got me. I can’t tell you the secret to all happiness. But I can tell you the secret to _my_ happiness.”

Catra kind of believes her. “W-would it work for me?”

Perfuma thinks for a moment, then nods. “Probably. It’s easy to explain, but it takes a lot of work to make happen—I mean a _lot_ of work. Daily effort, you know?”

Catra remembers that Perfuma’s from the _extremely laid-back_ kingdom of Goodsmellia (or something), and her definition of “daily effort” probably looks comatose compared to someone who grew up in the Horde. She’ll be fine. “Lay it on me.”

“Here it is: you have to look for things to be happy about.”

Catra… doesn’t get it. Perfuma can read it on her face.

“Happiness doesn’t come and find me, Catra. I go out looking for it and I drag it home with me!” She giggles.

Catra tries to take her seriously, but it sounds like she’s babbling nonsense. “Is this a riddle? What’s the secret to going out and _looking for_ happiness, then? How do you, like… capture it? Do—do you bring it home in a sack?”

Perfuma’s brow furrows. “I’m not explaining this right. Let me start over.” Catra shrugs in agreement. Perfuma seems to lose herself in thought for a moment, then nods and returns her attention to Catra.

“Catra,” she says decisively. “You’re a very practical person.”

“I—guess so? Thanks?”

“Oh, it’s a good thing,” Perfuma says. “The world needs practical people. But I think that means I should give you practical advice instead of, um,” she giggles, “flowery metaphors.”

Catra stares. “You… you did not just… Perfuma, that was _terrible_.”

Perfuma just flutters her eyelashes. “So! Practical advice for happiness, piece the first. Ready?”

This should be good, Catra thinks. “Ready.”

"I keep a daily journal. I write down what I did each day, who I saw, and how I felt about it. Journaling is helpful in all kinds of ways, but my actual advice is just part of that practice. I call it gratitude journaling.

“Basically, each day, I write down seven things I’m grateful for, and why. I try not to list any one thing more than once a week—I’m grateful for flowers and sunshine and Scorpia every day, of course, but the idea is to—”

“To keep finding new ones,” Catra says. She gets it. She doesn’t know if it would work for her yet, but she’s starting to understand the idea. “So—correct me if I’m wrong—a journal is kind of like… a mission log, or an action report, like we had to fill out in the Horde.” Not that Catra had ever filled hers out, but she was more familiar with those concepts than “journal.”

“Oh!” says Perfuma. “If that’s your frame of reference—your daily journal would be less technical, I suppose, but yes, it’s the same idea. Recording what happened so you can understand it better, and learn from it later.”

“Okay, so I write… whatever, stuff about my day, did this and that and felt sad and shit, and then I list seven things… that I’m grateful for.”

Perfuma giggles. “I hope you feel better than ‘sad and shit’ at least some of the time, but you get it.”

“And if I have to do that every day…” Catra wants to see if she can work this out for herself before Perfuma explains it to her. “I’m going to end up spending a lot of time thinking about those things, whatever those things are that I’m grateful for. And I’ll probably start making the list in my head earlier in the day, before I write it down, so I don’t have to think of seven things all at once…”

Perfuma is nodding encouragement, hands clasped in her lap, but Catra sees how tightly they’re folded and thinks Perfuma’s trying not to clap with joy. She appreciates the effort.

“And if I’m spending _that_ much time thinking about stuff I’m grateful for, like—like Adora, and Melog, and clothes that aren’t a Horde uniform—that’s time I’m not spending thinking about, like… bad stuff. And since it makes me happy to think about those things…”

Her eyes light up. “Holy shit, Perfuma. I think you might be a genius.”

Perfuma loses her struggle not to start clapping. “Catra! That was amazing! I think _you_ might be the genius here.”

Catra rolls her shoulders awkwardly, deflecting the compliment. “Nah. It just makes sense once you think about it.”

The full force of Perfuma’s lovely, genuine smile is really something up close. “Well. If you decide to give that a try some time, I think I have a blank journal or two around here somewhere. No pressure.”

Catra nods. “Maybe I’ll… I’ll take one with me when I go.”

Perfuma beams. “Perfect.”

* * *

Twenty minutes of attempted meditation later, neither of them are smiling.

“Okay,” Perfuma says, rubbing her palms together like she’s about to perform manual labour. “Let’s get practical about this.”

Catra lowers her face into her hands. “Is that not what we were doing? How can you ‘practical’ my brain into shutting the fuck up for five seconds?”

“Ohhhh,” says Perfuma suddenly. “I get it. I get what you’re not getting. I know how to explain this! Okay, listen to me.”

Catra listens. At least she’s allowed to open her eyes for this part.

“You work out, right?” Perfuma’s eyes flick up and down Catra’s arms, bare in the sleeveless t-shirt she stole from her girlfriend’s dresser this morning. Catra has plenty of her own clothes at Bright Moon by now, but who cares about those when she can wear Adora’s?

“I… do. Yes, I work out. So?”

“So, this kind of meditation is a lot like lifting weights.”

Catra blinks a couple of times. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true! Think about what you’re doing: you’re trying to clear your mind, but all these thoughts keep rushing back in, and you have to acknowledge and let go of each one, which takes a lot of effort at first.”

“Yeah,” says Catra sulkily, “and they keep coming back! I’m _never_ going to have an empty head!”

Oof. She’s real glad she didn’t say that in front of Adora. Perfuma doesn’t even take the bait; Adora would never let her live it down.

“That’s true,” says Perfuma. “And you’re never going to be able to hold a 100-pound barbell over your head all day, either. But that’s not the point of lifting weights, is it? It’s repetition, reps and sets. Every thought you push away—that’s one rep. You’re not lifting the weights to keep them up in the air forever. You’re training your muscles, so they get stronger.”

It’s like they’re finally speaking the same language. Catra feels that click of understanding again. “So I do all these… meditation reps, and my mind gets stronger? So I can… what, lift more thoughts?” Oh. _Oh_. “So I can stay in better control of my… ‘difficult’ thoughts. Because I’ve been practicing over and over on the easy ones.”

Perfuma’s nearly vibrating with pride. It’s embarrassing.

“So how long does it take to work?” Catra asks.

Perfuma shrugs. “How long does weightlifting take to work?”

“Oh. Right. Huh.”

“It’s… something for your long-term well being. Like—well, like working out, or a healthy diet. You make it part of your life. The benefits come in time.”

“Make it part of my life,” Catra repeats. She looks off into the distance. “You wanna know something, princess? I don’t think I’ve ever done a single thing in my life for my _long-term well being_. ‘Long-term’? That’s—that’s the future.”

Perfuma touches her wrist, very gently, just with her fingertips. “And you felt like futures were for other people.”

It’s not the exact words Catra would have used, but the sentiment is so hideously familiar that she physically recoils to hear it from someone else’s mouth. “Wha—how—”

“A lot of people who’ve struggled with suicide feel that way,” Perfuma continues, so very, very gently. “Even in recovery. You can want to live today and still not know how to care about next year.”

Catra’s throat feels like it’s closing up. She draws the deepest breath she can and barely manages to speak. “How… how do you…”

“When I was 12, the first time,” says Perfuma simply. “And again when I was 15.”

It takes way too long for Catra to figure that one out. When she does, it hits her like a cargo caravan. “You—”

“You’re not alone, Catra, that’s my point,” Perfuma says. She touches Catra’s wrist again, light as a petal. “Okay? You’re not alone.”

* * *

Perfuma is digging through a chest for the empty journal she swears is in there when a thought occurs to Catra. It’s big, and scary, but she’s wrestled with a few big scary thoughts lately.

“Hey,” she says. “Don’t worry about the book for a sec.”

Perfuma looks over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

Catra decides to just be honest about what she’s feeling. That’s the kind of thing Perfuma will approve of, right? “I want to ask you something, there’s k-kind of something I need help with, but… I feel bad asking for more from you. You’ve already done a lot for me.”

“You want to ask me for help?” Perfuma cocks her head. “Catra. Please ask me.”

“I think… I think I need… to talk about something. With someone who isn’t Adora, or Glimmer, or—or Bow. But who also isn’t a magic alien space cat.” Perfuma smiles. Of course she does. Everyone loves Melog. Only because they can’t hear how insufferably _right_ Melog is all the time, in Catra’s opinion.

“Tell you what,” says Perfuma. “I’ll put some tea on, and we can talk.”

She has a little kitchenette area in her tent, including a tea kettle on a magic-fueled hot plate. “This will only take a few minutes,” she says as she fusses with the water and the leaves. “Tell me what you need.”

“Okay,” Catra says. Perfuma’s making tea; there’s no backing out now. “I think Adora and I are going to sleep with Glimmer.”

To Perfuma’s immense credit, she barely blinks. “Hmm. That’s an interesting way to phrase that.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“‘I think we’re going to sleep with her.’ Not ‘we want to sleep with her,’ or ‘we’ve decided to.’ You just ‘think’ it’s going to happen. Just… happen to you. Like weather.”

“I… I don’t understand, is that important? The _way_ I said it?”

Perfuma shrugs. “Maybe not. I just noticed there wasn’t much agency for you in there, the way you said it. Or for Adora. Or Glimmer.”

Catra goes still. “We—we’re going to _ask_ her first!”

“Oh! Oh no! No no no!” says Perfuma. “That’s not at all what I meant! Gosh, I’m so sorry. I mean… okay, so. You think it’s going to happen. Do you _want_ it to happen?”

Catra thinks. She does… doesn’t she? This tension between her and Glimmer didn’t come from nowhere, and it’s turned into an itch she really wants to scratch. And Adora’s super into the idea of watching them, and Catra’s super into anything that gets Adora that revved up. She’s even intrigued by the idea of watching Adora and Glimmer together, her initial tiny grain of jealousy having turned into a pearl of something very different. And that’s not to mention what the three of them could get up to together…

“Yes,” she says. “I want it. Adora wants it. We’re pretty sure Glimmer wants it, and if she doesn’t—no harm done.”

“And Bow?” Perfuma asks.

“You saw him at the party. He’s crazy about her and he knows she’s crazy about him. I don’t think Glimmer messing around with us would bother him. And if it would, we call it off—like I said, no harm done.”

“That does sound like Bow,” Perfuma agrees. “Okay, so, the three of you all seem to want this, no one’s going to get hurt… you still seem to have a _lot_ of anxiety about it, though.”

“Yeah, I just… I think I just…” Catra winces with effort. She’s going to have to ask for what she needs again. Maybe one day that won’t feel like trying to pull her own teeth. “I think I just need you to tell me that it’s okay? To want this? To… to maybe get it, too? I’m so fucking happy with Adora, but every minute of every day I have to scream at myself internally that yes, I do deserve this, yes, I’m allowed to want this, yes, this is really happening.” Fuck, she’s crying. Perfuma hands her a handkerchief from, apparently, nowhere. Catra takes it. “It already feels like so much. And now I want _more?_ What’s _wrong_ with me?”

“Ohh. Oh, Catra.” _Did I really used to think Perfuma’s voice was annoying?_ Right now Catra’s ears are drinking it in. She could listen to Perfuma read an inventory manifest. “I could tell you that you deserve everything you want and more, but the words wouldn’t really help, would they.”

Catra shakes her head no, feeling ungrateful. “Not really. But I’d love some more of that practical advice, if—if you got any.”

“What if I told you there’s no such thing as ‘deserving’? Too abstract?”

Catra startles. “That’s what Melog says! All the time!”

“Awww!” exclaims Perfuma. “I knew that was a smart kitty.” Catra rolls her eyes.

“I hear that a lot from Melog,” Catra says again, “but it doesn’t change the way I feel.”

Perfuma nods. “That might be another one of those long-term goals. How about this for now: what does Adora think you deserve?”

“Wh—Adora?”

“Yeah.” Perfuma smiles and waits for an answer.

“Uh… I guess if you asked her… she’d probably say something like ‘love.’ And, like… I don’t know, ‘forgiveness.’ Probably, I guess. That sounds like her.”

“Do you think that _Adora_ thinks that you deserve Glimmer? In the way you’re talking about wanting her.”

Catra’s slowly starting to feel like she’s being backed into a corner. “I think… Adora probably thinks I do, sure, yeah. I see what you’re doing here.”

Perfuma smiles even more sweetly. “And do you _trust_ Adora?”

Catra narrows her eyes. “This is psychological warfare.”

“Call it what you want. Answer the question.” Catra’s eyes widen a little. _Damn, Perfuma._

“Yes,” she groans. “Yes, yes, yes, of course I trust Adora. I trust her more than…”

 _More than whom?_ Perfuma asks with only her eyebrows. _Give me a fucking break,_ Catra thinks in exasperation. _How did I walk right into this?_

“I trust her more than I trust myself,” she finishes in a monotone, jaw clenched, feeling somehow both defeated and victorious.

Perfuma claps again, delighted. She’s even worse than Melog, Catra decides.

* * *

“So I heard you and Scorpia talked.”

Catra sips her tea. It tastes like grass. It’s not the worst. “Yeah,” she sighs. “We talked.”

“She said it went well.”

“It did,” Catra says, still in the same tone of voice.

“And I don’t know if she said it then, but she told me she’s forgiven you. I said she had a big heart, didn’t I?”

“The biggest,” Catra agrees morosely.

“But…?” Perfuma prompts.

Catra looks down into her mug. The tea kind of looks like grass, too. _What if I’m just… drinking grass?_ She shrugs and takes another sip. “I don’t suppose you have any practical advice about me forgiving myself?”

Perfuma brushes the back of Catra’s hand where it’s resting on the table. She’s nearly as tactile as Adora, but in a completely different way—barely there, but also indisputably there. “That’s a big one,” she says sympathetically. “Let’s make a plan to talk about it next time.”

* * *

As she’s leaving the tent, Catra hesitates. “Perfuma… thank you. For—everything today. I… listen, do I owe you an apology? For—”

Perfuma shakes her head. “You’ve already apologized to me, Catra.”

“Wait—what? I did? When?”

“With your actions. I’ve been watching you since Adora brought you back, you know. Not in a creepy way or anything—I think we all have.” More than fair, Catra thinks. “And I’ve seen the effort you’re putting in. I’ve seen you make mistakes, and I’ve seen you make amends for them, and I’ve seen you work to avoid making those same mistakes again.”

Catra stands there, stunned. “Y-you have?”

“Catra,” Perfuma says, nothing but kindness in her voice. “We all have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Friends of Mara! Perfuma may or may not count as a qualified therapist by the standards of Etherian society, but I don't count as one by any standards at all! Nothing in this fic is meant to represent any real useful therapeutic practice, and any resemblance is purely a lucky guess on my part. I do stand by that meditation/weightlifting analogy, but the rest of it is just stuff I made up that sounded good at the time, okay? Okay. More soon.


End file.
